


Only in the Agony of Parting Do We Look Into the Depths of Love

by Gtech1904



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Brief paragraph containing walking precariously on a wall up high, Episode: s04e01-02 The Darkest Hour, Grief, Lancelot/Merlin is up to you, M/M, Magic, Meant to be either friend or lover, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mourning, Slight Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gtech1904/pseuds/Gtech1904
Summary: Lancelot leaves. He had promised not to leave. But he did and now Merlin has to live without him.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Only in the Agony of Parting Do We Look Into the Depths of Love

Merlin sobbed. He rarely, truly ever cried so hard that he couldn’t breathe, his every breath giving way to the lump in his throat that suffocated him. His eyes blurred, the vague black hues of the crumbled and cracked castle that once had been mighty now distorted. His ears rang, loud and deafening, not letting any sound in but for his frantic heart beat. His hands felt the chilled stone that felt like death, a bitter death that Merlin cursed Lancelot for. 

It was never supposed to be him. Never supposed to be the man he could share everything with, did share everything with. Lancelot was selfless, Merlin was selfish. Lancelot left, he promised he wouldn’t. But he left Merlin again and it felt like the sting of betrayal. Merlin was selfish, he wanted his best friend back. 

He had not cried so hard when his father died. He had not sobbed so for Freya. He had not mourned the loss of who Morgana used to be quite so much as he was now. Knees bruised from sitting so long, wrapped up in his grief. But he was not thinking about Morgana, not Freya, nor his father. 

He was thinking that he hated Lancelot just a little bit. A spark that he knew would burst into a bonfire. Because Merlin was selfish. But he thought Lancelot was a bit selfish too. But Merlin wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking that he hated Lancelot with a burning passion as he dragged himself to his feet. 

They were numb but it felt like he was wading through a burning water, the heat scorching the soles of his feet even when he was still wearing his boots. 

He screamed. He screamed, cursing Lancelot in every language he knew. He felt arms wrap around his waist—Percival, his mind supplied—but he kicked and screamed, and shouted how much he hated the person he loved the most. 

Because he loved Lancelot and Lancelot loved him. But Merlin was selfish and so was Lancelot. He left. He promised not to leave. And Merlin hated him with all the magic he possessed. 

He was too tired to hate. The fight drained out of him and he fell slack in Percival’s arms. He could hear the murmurs of the other knights. They asked if he was okay, they asked what happened. Merlin thought he hated them just a bit too. But he was too tired to act on his hate. 

He ignored them. 

He wanted away. Away from here. From Lancelot’s grave. Where Merlin could not even bring back a body. Merlin was selfish. He did not want the body. He wanted Lancelot. 

The knights did not protest when he moved to leave this vile, retched place that Merlin knew he would be coming back to bargain, hoping to get Lancelot back. Because Merlin was selfish. 

They made it back to Camelot, the townspeople stopping to take in the solemn group and the one riderless horse. Merlin was sure they were counting in their head who came back and who was left behind. Merlin hated them too just a tiny bit. They did not see, did not watch Lancelot look back to smile at him. Did not feel their heart shatter irrevocably. Merlin hated them too. 

Gwen was waiting at the steps. Hand over her mouth as she took stock of them. But Merlin could not do it, could not look as she crumbled in Arthur’s arms. He felt envious. For though she loved Lancelot she still loved Arthur too. Her heart would mend and Merlin’s was beyond repair. Merlin felt hot bitter tears well up again and he ran from the courtyard. Ran from his friends who called out to him. Ran from the servants who looked worried as he passed. 

He ran until his legs gave out. He had ran up high. High to the battlements. He could see the sun setting on the horizon.

He didn’t care for the sun. 

He stuck his feet onto the ledge, let them dangle off the edge. He thought about jumping. Because Merlin was selfish. 

The door banged open and Merlin knew it was Arthur, his magic would always recognize Arthur. _Merlin_ , Arthur’s voice sounding muffled to Merlin. Merlin teetered from where he stood. 

Merlin was on the ground, face on painful stone, Arthur on top of him. Arthur was yelling. He was upset. Merlin had done something. He didn’t understand what. 

He settled for crying. That was all he was good for. Letting silent tears make a permanent home on his face. He didn’t hear Arthur yelling but he felt warmth he did not deserve. Arthur was hugging him. Merlin didn’t pull away because he was selfish. He cried until he fell into a despairing oblivion. 

He woke from the blackness with a sharp cry. Limps flying and scrambling to get out of silk sheets that he knew were not his but Arthur’s. It was morning and Merlin could smell smoke. He ran for the window to see a sight he would never forget, seared into his brain to haunt the rest of his days. A funeral pyre. Merlin didn’t need to guess to know whom for. 

A cloak of blood red that never spilled from Lancelot. A sword of shining silver that Merlin tended to with care now burning into ashes. Merlin hated Arthur. But more so he hated Lancelot. 

He rushed to the courtyard. He didn’t know why but he needed to. He didn’t know why. Gwen and Arthur were the only ones left when Merlin made it. He did not know why but he stayed back. He listened. 

_He didn't sacrifice himself for Camelot. I asked him to look after you and he promised me with his life. He was true to his word._

Merlin ran. Breathe caught in his throat. He hated Lancelot. Hated him. Hated him. Hated him. But he loved him too. He thought he hated Gwen just a little bit too. He hated himself more. 

He ran until he could call the dragon. Waited for him to arrive. He could feel the pressure behind his eyes, wanting to release more tears but Merlin wouldn’t let them yet. So he waited. 

The dragon came and Merlin pleaded. Begged and begged for anyway to save his noble but selfish Lancelot. Merlin knew the answer but logic never played a part in grief. He needed to hear it. 

Killgharah was sorry. 

Merlin didn’t want him to be sorry. He wanted Lancelot. Because Melin was selfish. 

He did not return to Camelot that night. He did in the morning. Returned to find the castle in a frenzy. Looking for him of all people. He was directed to Arthur’s chambers. 

_I have magic_ , Merlin blurted out. He could not take the constricting clenching in his gut and his shattered heart that made him bleed more and more the longer he kept it in. 

Arthur said nothing but sent him away. 

It suited Merlin just fine. He confined himself to the tallest tower. Locking the door. He gathered the forbidden magical texts from the secret room in the library and his book in his chambers. He poured over them. Again and again. Because Merlin was selfish. He wanted Lancelot back. 

He continued uninterrupted for weeks. He never left. Never slept. Never ate. Allowed his magic to sustain him. Because he knew he was immortal. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not without Lancelot. 

Two months—maybe, Merlin could not be sure—Arthur knocked on his door. He looked so unsure of himself. Hesitant. Merlin let him in. 

Arthur didn’t comment on his appearance but for a wrinkling of his nose that probably meant he smelled. He passed two scrolls to him. He read them. 

One lifted the ban on magic. The other offered him the title of Court Sorcerer. 

Merlin didn’t feel anything. But he accepted. Lancelot would want that.

He spent less time in his magic books that held no answers, trying to find something that was impossible. More time outside. More time sleeping. More time eating. He spent time with his friends. Spent time training Mordred and other sorcerers. 

He made peace with Morgana. Bonded over Uther’s death and the loss of their loved ones. He taught Morgana healing magic and watched as she courted Leon. 

He watched as Arthur married Gwen. As Gwen was crowned Queen. Watched in heartbreak as they learned Arthur could not bring the child they both desperately wanted into the world. 

He watched as the remaining knights found their own families. Let them tease and encourage him to find his own.

But he couldn’t. 

Merlin was selfish. He missed Lancelot. But he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t scared. Wasn’t bone deep wary. 

He just was. 

His heart would never heal. It would stay shattered. But one piece would fix itself. Let him feel something. Feel love for his friends. For his family. 

Merlin was selfish. But so was Lancelot. 


End file.
